


Virtue #5 -- Temperance

by NyteFlyer



Series: Virtues [5]
Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movies)
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, Drama, Gay Romance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, meet the parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-21
Updated: 2010-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyteFlyer/pseuds/NyteFlyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a little restraint can go a long way....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Virtue #5 -- Temperance

  
_I don’t need to fight  
To prove I’m right  
I don’t need to be forgiven

~~ “Baba O’Riley” by The Who

_　

　

Nobody’s ever going to accuse me of being a patient man.

If I think it, I act on it. That’s just who I am. And sometimes I bypass the thinking part and go straight ahead with the acting. I admit this. But Timmy’s the dead opposite. He sweats the details. Even about piddly shit, stuff that doesn’t even matter. Some days I deal with it okay. And some days it just fucking drives me crazy.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed in sandals, shorts, and a clean white tee, watching the love of my life try on the third shirt in as many minutes. This one was a pale pink polo with a navy stripe, and it had one of those little animals the designers sew on the front so everybody can tell who shops at famous places and who cruises the aisles at your friendly, hometown Wal-Mart. Sweat rolled down my neck. Our A/C was on the fritz, and the super said nobody could take a look at until the next day since it was a holiday and all. Between the heat and all the waiting, I was getting a killer headache.

“Honey, you do realize this is the Fourth of July at your grandma’s, right? Not an audience with the Queen of England.”

“You’ve never met my grandmother.” Timmy turned to smile at me, and my impatience flew out the window. Well, most of it, anyway. The shirt was still up for grabs, but at least he’d ditched the cream-colored linen pants he’d started with and gone with jeans instead. The straight-cut denim hugged that world-class ass of his and showcased his long swimmer’s legs to perfection. He looked good enough to eat. As a matter of fact….

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, recognizing that look in my eye and backing away before I had the chance to pounce. Laughing, I shot off the bed and cornered him between the dresser and the bathroom door. I leaned against him just hard enough to keep him in place without wrinkling anything -- I did value my life, after all -- and leisurely lapped the tip of his nose and both of his cheeks with my tongue.

“You’re insane,” he said as my hands cupped his ass and gave each tight, perfectly round cheek a friendly squeeze. But he was laughing, too, and I couldn’t help noticing that he wasn’t exactly struggling to get away. We spent the next few minutes making out with enough enthusiasm to bump the heat in the room up another notch, and I was beginning to think we might just skip the family thing and set off a few fireworks of our own instead. But when I came up for air, he pushed me away, gasping. “All right, one of us has to show some restraint here. If you don’t cut it out, we’re not going to make it to Grandmother’s Fourth of July dinner before July fifth!”

“Or July sixth,” I said, trying to nail him with another kiss. “Or July seventh, or July eighth….”

The man’s slipperier than Harry Fucking Houdini when he wants to be. He gave me a firm shove and wriggled away, putting some distance between us. “Enough! If we don’t get on the road in the next five minutes, we’re going to be late.”

“Whose fault is that?” I asked, lugging the overnight bag we were sharing off the bed and tucking his shaving kit under my arm. The plan was to spend the night at his grandmother‘s, have brunch with the folks, and take our sweet time getting home the next day. Timmy, being Timmy, had packed enough crap to see us through a week in the Hamptons, and the suitcase weighed a ton. “I’ve been ready for an hour. You’re the one….”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, peering into the mirror again as he retucked the shirttail I’d managed to pull loose from the waist of his jeans and smoothed down his hair. He pulled off his glasses and held them up to the light, squinting at them in disapproval, then pulled out a lint-free cloth and polished them before settling them back on his nose again. Before I had a chance to slink away, he rearranged my hair, too. “I’m a little nervous about this,” he said, working my short, blond spikes until they lived up to his vision of carefully tousled perfection. “This is the first time I’ve taken anyone home to meet the folks since Guy Tomlinson asked me to the senior prom, and I just want it to go well, you know? This is important to me. You’re important to me.”

“You’re important to me, too,” I said. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll charm their socks off. Your mom loves me already, and Granny sounds like a real peach. We‘ll get along just fine.”

“I know you will. It’s my father I’m worried about. I just wish I didn’t have to break my news to him today.”

“You’re changing jobs, honey, not turning communist or joining a cult. How bad can it be?”

“You don’t know my father,” he said.

The drive down to Poughkeepsie was nice, even if the A/C in my car wasn’t working any better than the unit in our apartment. I was driving an ‘86 Chevette back then, silver trimmed with black in between patches of primer, and it didn’t exactly give us the smoothest ride on the road. The car was a piece of crap, but Timmy was nice about it and hardly ever complained, even when his friends spotted me hauling him around and ragged him about it. We rode with the windows down, laughing and talking and fighting over radio stations, his hand tucked into mine the whole way. It was corny and sweet and fun, and it gave me a sense of something I hadn’t had in my life for years, if ever.

All that changed when we pulled into his grandmother’s tree-lined drive. “Shit, Timmy,” I said as I rolled to a stop in front of the biggest damned house I’d ever seen, all brick and ivy and tall, white columns. It was a far cry from my mom’s A-frame back in Warren, I can tell you that much. This was Timmy’s world, I’d known that going in. But me? Jesus. I was gonna look like some kind of poor relation in my khaki shorts and four-dollar Hanes tee. I shopped at Wal-Mart, and it showed.

“It’s just a house, Donald.” Timmy lowered the sun visor, ignoring the collection of yellowing maps and restaurant receipts that rained onto his lap when he flipped the mirror open and started checking his hair for wind damage. When he was done, he pulled me in for a quick kiss. “Come on, handsome. It’s time to face the firing squad.” He reached for the door handle, but in a sudden surge of pure panic I caught his hand and pulled it into my lap, holding it hostage between both of my own.

“I just want this…I just want to be….”

“It will be,” he said quietly. “You _are_.”

“I’m way out of my league here, Timmy. You know what I come from, and it’s nothing like….” I waved my hand, indicating the house, the grounds, all of it. “I’m not….”

“Donald, when have I ever cared about what you aren’t? It’s who you are that matters to me. I love you,“ he said, punctuating the words with another kiss. “My mother loves you. I don’t see how my grandmother could possibly help falling in love with you, too.“

I noticed he didn’t bring his father into the mix but decided not to press the point.

Timmy’s mother met us at the door, throwing her arms around both of us like she hadn’t seen us in months, when she’d just driven up for lunch the Saturday before. “Timothy! Donald! It’s so nice to see you!” she said as we hugged her back and took turns giving her pecks on the cheek.

“Good to see you, too, Marion,” I said. As always, I was kinda floored by all the enthusiasm she threw my way, by the way she really seemed to like me and treated me like family. I mean, I knew she was the wife of a public figure and all, and that meant she was pretty much required to be outgoing and ultra-polite. But this wasn’t politeness, it was the real deal, a mom acting like a mom to both her kids, not just the one she happened to give birth to. Whatever it was Timmy saw in me, she obviously saw, too.

“Where’s Dad?” Timmy asked. “He isn’t hiding in the study with the phone and his laptop, is he?

“No, James has done a reasonably good job of setting work aside for once. He spent most of the day playing golf with Tom Nelson, so he’s in the shower, trying to cool off.”

“He lost,” Timmy said. It wasn’t a question.

“Of course he did.”

“I’ll make the martinis,“ he said in a tone as dry as his drink of choice. He held the door for us, letting Marion go first and me after since I was pretty much loaded down with our stuff. One look at the foyer and I stopped dead in my tracks. I felt like I’d wandered onto the set of one of those old black and white movies Timmy’s so crazy about. I took in polished wood and marble, vaulted ceilings and a wide, curving staircase. Timmy and his mom gave me a minute to just stand there and get my bearings.

“Whoa.” It was all I could think of to say.

“You wouldn’t believe how intimidated I was the first time James brought me here,” Marion told me. “My father was a hardworking Dubliner whose parents brought him over on the boat when he was twelve. He made his fortune through sweat and pure Irish thick-headedness, and he was very frugal with everything he earned. Both he and my mother believed in spending money on education and investing everything else. They lived very simply. So imagine the culture shock when I met Elizabeth for the first time!”

“Grandmother doesn’t live simply,” Timmy said, grinning.

“So I see.” I couldn’t help sneaking another peek up the staircase, half-expecting to see Bette Davis gliding down in an evening gown and mink stole at any moment.

“Elizabeth lives with zest,” Marion said. “That’s why I love her. She enjoys what she has and doesn’t pretend otherwise. She should be coming down

soon,” she said, catching my glance. “She told me she was going to slip into something festive.”

“I can only imagine,” Timmy said, and they both laughed.

Alone in the guestroom, we unpacked, or at least Timmy did, transferring our carefully folded jeans and shirts onto hangers as he inspected each item for wrinkles. I’d plopped down on the bed to watch him, loving the way he moved through space, the way he was put together, the fact that his hair looked every bit as soft and thick as it felt. The three of us had shared a round of his signature martinis, dry as hell and just a little bit dirty, before Marion showed us to our room, so between that familiar vodka-fueled rush and Marion’s warm welcome, I was starting to relax. I couldn’t help wishing I could say the hell with it all and just jump him right then and there, that I could drag him onto that king-sized bed and make love to him for the next hour, the next day, the next week. Martini or not, he was on edge and doing a lousy job of hiding it, and I knew nothing would work the tension out of his system like a few rounds of high-octane sex with me. But everybody was probably downstairs waiting for us by then, and he was counting on me to make a reasonably good impression. The fun and games would just have to wait til later.

After another round of hair smoothing and clothes straightening, Timmy led me down to what he called the drawing room, a red and gold covered cavern that was bigger than my old apartment. As we walked in, a man I would have recognized anywhere as Timmy‘s father rose from the couch, slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit pants in a gesture so Timmylike it just about took my breath away. Then he ruined it by opening his mouth.

“So you made it down at last!” he said with so much fake heartiness it set my teeth on edge. Timmy’s hands slid into his pockets, too, and they both just stood there like that, sizing each other up from opposite ends of a bridge someone had obviously set fire to years ago.

Marion touched her husband‘s arm. “Don, I’d like you to meet my husband, James. James, this is Donald Strachey.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, sir,” I said, extending my hand. He didn’t hesitate, not even for a second, but the expression on his face told me everything I needed to know about where things stood. His hand closed on mine firmly if not particularly warmly as he welcomed me to his mother’s home. He sounded sincere enough. Who knows, maybe he even thought he meant it. But eyes don’t lie, not even a politician’s, especially not to a guy who makes his living searching for hidden truths. What I saw there had my hackles rising and every protective instinct in me on red alert. When his hand finally released mine and slid back into his pocket, I edged a little closer to Timmy.

“A little casual tonight, aren’t you, sport?” The question was directed at Timmy, but we both knew exactly who he meant.

“It’s the Fourth of July, Dad, not an audience with the Queen of England,” Timmy said, turning his head just enough to send a wink my way without the old boy catching wind of it. I smiled at him, feeling the knot that had been forming in the pit of my stomach start to dissolve. I would have liked to have winked back, or better yet, to have tangled my fingers with his and given them a reassuring squeeze. But James was standing right there, and the last thing I wanted to do was piss him off and maybe embarrass Timmy.

“This might not be England, but who says I’m not a queen?”

The dress standing in the doorway was such a showstopper it took me a good ten seconds to get past it and see the woman inside. Sequins and a lot of them on a bright red evening gown with a neckline so low and a hemline split so high they damned near met in the middle. It was topped off with a sparkly blue and white scarf with so many bangles and beads she looked like a drag club version of the American flag.

“Grandmother!” Timmy said, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing so tight you could almost hear her squeak. “I’ve missed you so much! I have someone I want you to meet. Donald,” he said, “this is my grandmother, Elizabeth Callahan.”

“So you’re the handsome detective my favorite grandson is so head over heels over,” she said, giving me the once over.

“And you’re the famous southern belle he keeps talking about.” I said, grinning like a fool because hell, he’d told his grandmother he was head over heels over me.

“Former southern belle, I’m afraid. And I suspect ‘infamous’ is more to the point. I’m Liz. If you call me anything else and it doesn’t qualify as pillow talk, I won’t answer. I might even sing “The Star Spangled Banner “to drown you out, and I detest that song. You probably do, too.“ She tottered across to her baby grand on four-inch red stilettos, hauling Timmy and me right along with her. “What’s your pleasure? Show tunes, no doubt? A little Andrew Lloyd Webber?”

Timmy groaned as her hands skated across the ivories, playing snatches of something that sounded vaguely familiar. “That’s a stereotype, Grandmother. Donald’s hardly the _Phantom_ type.”

“Timmy likes the Broadway stuff,” I told her. “I’m more into classic rock and metal.”

“A little Pink Floyd, then? Or would you prefer The Who?” she asked, surprising the hell out of me with the first 30 seconds or so of “Baba O’Riley.”

“How come you never told me your grandma was a rocker?” I asked Timmy.

“What fun would life be without a few surprises along the way?” she asked, settling on a tufted bench with her back to the piano. “If you play your cards right, I might play for you later. I take requests, so think of something interesting. Jazz, blues, swing, rock. It’s all part of my repertoire.”

“Timmy’d told me you were a classically trained pianist, so I assumed….”

“That I was limited to Mozart, Schubert and the like? I’m surprised he didn’t also mention the fact that I’m something of a renegade.”

“I think that came up in the conversation, too,” I said, grinning.

“My parents took out a second mortgage on their house to put me through school, but halfway through my fourth year, I dropped out on a whim and began performing with a jazz ensemble in Atlanta. Needless to say, my parents were scandalized. But one night after a performance, I received a dozen roses and an invitation to a late supper from a certain Mr. Callahan, who was in town on business and happened to catch the show.”

“Grandfather swept her off her feet,” Timmy said.

“Or I swept him off his. I’ve never been sure which way it worked. But we were married a month later, and my parents were kind enough to forgive my youthful impetuousness when they realized I’d married up.”

“What about his parents?” I had to ask.

“They were horrified, of course. They should have considered themselves lucky that their son ended up with a catch like me. You wouldn’t know it now, but I was rather easy on the eye when I was a girl.”

I believed it. Once my eyes had adjusted to the blinding glare of the dress, I could tell she’d been a real beauty back in the day. Timmy‘d told me she was on the high side of eighty, but if the way she was holding up was any indication, he was going to be turning more heads than mine for a lot of years to come. The congressman looked pretty good for his age, too, just going a little soft around the middle the way a lot of college athletes do when they quit working out, but his suit hid most of it. I remembered Timmy saying his father had been the big football hero in high school, but he’d spent all his time at Notre Dame warming the bench. He’d been a real asshole to Timmy because he’d “forsaken a real man’s game,“ and joined the swim team instead, but I woulda bet my money on Timmy having the last laugh. He still loved the water and hit the lap pool at the gym several times a week. I doubted if James had gone one-on-one with a pigskin since Marilyn sang “Happy Birthday” to JFK, and all that unused muscle was slowly turning to fat.

“T.J, why don’t you mix the martinis while I get better acquainted with this handsome young man?” Liz said, snagging my elbow and tugging me down beside her. The piano bench had a one-butt capacity and that was about it, but Liz was tiny, so I managed to perch on the corner without missing it completely and landing on the floor. “It’s such a shame he’s wasting his life with politics,” she whispered, hooking her arm through mine and scooting over to give me more room. “Honestly, the bartender that boy could have made!”

“T.J?” I asked, turning to grin at my partner.

Behind the bar, Timmy poured vodka into a shaker and reached for the vermouth. “Grandmother hates my name,” he said. “She says it sounds like something you’d call a cat.”

“That’s because his mother named him after a cat,” James grumphed. “Not even a real cat, I might add. A stuffed one. Without consulting me before she filled out the information for the birth certificate, I might add.”

Marion seated herself on the couch and tucked a cushion behind the small of her back. “It’s difficult to consult with a man who can’t seem to work the birth of his first child into his schedule, dear. I was forced to assume I was on my own, so I proceeded accordingly.”

“You knew I was obligated to be on the road that weekend. For God’s sake, Marion, it was an election year! And I still showed you all the support time and distance allowed.”

“He sent me a telegram,” Marion said. “It consisted of one line: _I look forward to seeing the fruits of your labor_.”

“He always did have a knack for euphemisms,“ Liz said, deadpan. We all turned to stare at her. Then Timmy cracked up, taking Marion and me along for the ride. Rounding the bar, he walked over to give Liz another hug, laughing so hard he was nearly choking. “I’ve missed you so much, Grandmother,” he said once he could breathe again. “Why don’t you turn this place over to Mom and Dad the way you’ve always said you would and come live in Albany with Donald and me?”

“A _ménage a trois_ is a bit much for me to handle at my age,” she said. “But you’d better watch your back, my dear. If you take your eyes off this lovely boy of yours for long, I might just convince him to marry me instead.”

“It would be an honor,” I told her.“But wait, I gotta know. Was he really named after a cat?”

“It was my favorite stuffed animal when I was a little girl,” Marion said, flashing that white, bright smile that reminded me so much of Timmy’s. “A yellow cat with no tail and a hat covered in flowers. My mother won him for me at a church picnic when I was three. I named him after my favorite uncle, Father Timothy O’Connell, who was the pastor at St. Mary’s for years. I loved the name then, and I still loved it a quarter of a century later when Timothy was born.”

“Marion, you knew I wanted to follow the family tradition and name him after me. James was my father’s name and my grandfather’s….”

“I was _not_ going to have a child named James Patrick Callahan the Fourth! We’re not British aristocracy, for heaven’s sake. I gave in and used James as his middle name, so you’ll just have to be content with that. Besides, if you were so determined to follow family tradition, we could have named him after _my_ father.”

“Hubert Aloysius Gallagher O’Connell,” Liz said dryly. “I think we were better off with the cat.”

Over dinner, the conversation turned to politics, of course. I concentrated on the food and did my best to tune it out. Liz’s idea of a Fourth of July picnic centered around filet mignon with all the trimmings served on heirloom china in a formal dining room decked out in flag colors, followed by dessert and drinks out on the veranda. To tell the truth, I’d never been entirely sure what a veranda was. Funny, but it pretty much just looked like a porch to me. Timmy and his dad got into a long debate over the merits of House Bill Something-or-Other, both of them getting a little over-heated. But getting heated over politics was Timmy’s favorite indoor sport, and I assumed it was the same with his father, so I didn’t think that much about it.

Liz asked me to light some bamboo torches filled with citronella oil to keep the mosquitoes at bay, so I took care of that for her, then plopped down on the cushiest double-wide chaise lounge I‘d ever seen. When I was finally able to catch Timmy’s eye, I motioned for him to join me. He settled in without missing a beat and went right on dissecting some boring-assed proposal his father seemed to be madly in love with, so I followed the ladies’ lead and just quietly vegged out as we savored the sunset and some top-notch martinis.

After dark, the gardener and his son set off fireworks over the lake, which was a cool idea. All those colorful flashes of light reflecting in the water made a nice sight. I hadn’t had a chance to fool around with bottle rockets since I was a kid and was itching to run down to the dock and help them. But I was kicked back and comfortable right there with Timmy, holding his hand in spite of the evil eye his father was giving us, so I stayed put.

Once the show was over, Liz invited Phil the gardener up for a beer. He passed on the brew, reminding Liz that he didn’t drink. But his son, Ted, wanted one, so they hung out with us while he downed it. Ted was about eighteen and a looker, with wide, dark eyes and one of those mouths you knew was tailor-made for one thing and one thing only. He had my radar wailing like a fire siren the second I laid eyes on him, and the way he kept looking at us sitting on that lounge chair together pretty much sealed the deal. More at Timmy than at me, actually, with a little smile on that cocksucker’s mouth of his and a look in his eyes I didn’t like one bit.

It was starting to piss me off, if you wanna know the truth. Forgetting where I was and who I was trying to impress, I looked the little shit dead in the eye and caught Timmy in a majorly inappropriate lip-lock just to prove a point. Timmy’s eyes flew open in shock, the congressman made a noise like somebody trying to digest curried gunpowder, and Liz picked that moment to announce, “By the way, Don, Ted’s homosexual, too.”

“For the love of Christ, Mother! Do you have no boundaries at all?“ James roared as Ted The Teenaged Homosexual sprayed beer in a three-foot arc. Phil had to pound him on the back to keep him from choking, which served him right for checking out my guy, if you ask me. They said their goodnights soon after.

Everyone yawned and stretched and made noises about how late it was getting, but nobody seemed to be in any big rush to head inside. Liz’s cook, Katie, served a final round of drinks, and the conversation finally lightened up. Marion asked me about my job and seemed honest-to-God interested when I pulled a couple of funny stories about clients past out of the vaults, then she asked how the search for a bigger apartment was going. I told her it was going just fine, that we’d staked out a couple of places we were interested in, and that we were hoping to check out a few other possibilities over the weekend. This met with the approval of everyone but the congressman, who uttered dire warnings about the housing market, then asked point

blank if we could afford the move.

“We’re fine, Dad,” Timmy said evenly. “I didn’t have a problem covering the bills when I was on my own, and now that Donald’s business is picking up, we have some extra padding. It’s time we upgraded.”

“I have to admit, I don’t understand the rush. A one bedroom apartment is no mansion, but what more do you need? After all, it’s not like you two have to worry about the pitter-patter of little feet.“

Timmy clamped down on my hand, sensing the exact moment when I started to prickle. “Converting a spare bedroom into work space would make life easier for both of us,” he said, the barest bit of an edge creeping into his voice. “That way we could spend more time home together instead of burning the midnight oil at separate offices. Besides, we’d love to be able to offer you and Mom a place to stay when you’re in town.”

“Still, a larger apartment is a huge financial responsibility. And if your current…arrangement…doesn’t work out…”

Hearing the old bastard blow off our relationship that way went straight through me. I was on my feet in a heartbeat, but Timmy caught me by the arm and jerked me around, that gentle touch of his suddenly turning to cold steel as his fingers gouged my bicep so hard I’d still have bruises there a week later.

“Let me handle this.” He said it softly enough, but in a tone that didn’t leave much room for argument. Then he turned on his father. “Donald and I don’t have an _arrangement_. We have a relationship. We have a life. What we are, we’re still going to be tomorrow and next month and next year. Someday we’ll be standing here celebrating our golden anniversary if the house hasn’t been sold off and we’re both still breathing. This isn’t a flash in the pan, Dad. It’s real, it’s permanent, and you _will_ show us the same respect you’d show any other couple who’ve decided to make a life together.”

I looked at him in surprise. It was what I wanted, of course. And I’d had a pretty good idea it was what he wanted, too. But we’d never said so in so many words, never spelled it out the way he was doing right then, like it was all a done deal.

“Now wait just a minute here,” James said. “Haven’t I shown you and your…your….“

“Partner, Dad. Donald’s my life partner.”

“Haven’t I shown you and Donald respect? I think your mother and I have been more than accepting of a situation that’s nontraditional, to say the least. But you can‘t see into the future, and on one income at your current salary level….”

“He’s never going to be living on just one….” I began, but Timmy interrupted me with a voice so cold I could practically feel my eardrums frost over just from listening to it.

“My current salary level is about to change,” he said. “First thing Monday morning, I’m giving notice to Congressman Fletcher. I’ve accepted a position as chief aide to Dianne Glassman. She recruited me, Dad. Me, because she thinks I’m that good.”

James looked like he was about to stroke out at any minute. “Have you lost your mind? Morley Fletcher is an old friend of mine. He took you under his wing as a personal favor to me in spite of your…proclivities. He’s allowed you to head one of the finest political teams in the state. He’s treated you with nothing but generosity and respect!”

At the word “proclivities,” I tried to move forward, but Timmy kept me pinned to his side with that steely grip. “Fletcher treats me like a glorified

office boy. Senator Glassman….”

“Senator Glassman is a flaming liberal! She’s spent every second of her public life fighting tooth and nail to overthrow everything that is good and decent about this country. She’s…she’s…”

“Say it, Dad. It’s not a dirty word. She’s a Democrat. And so am I.”

“You are _not_ a Democrat!”

“Good God, James, political affiliation isn’t something you’re born with, like being white or male or right-handed or heterosexual,” Liz said. “It’s a belief, a choice. And it‘s one you can change anytime you like.”

“My father raised me to support the G.O.P….”

“And you continued to support it without any encouragement from me. I’ve voted the straight Democratic ticket since Truman was in office, and I’ll continue to do so until my dying day. You’ve made your choices and I’ve made mine. Now it’s time for T.J. to make his.”

The congressman’s eyes bulged, then locked on Timmy’s. “If you do this, you’ll be turning your back on everything I’ve done with my life. You’ll be turning your back on me.”

Timmy adjusted his glasses, his hand trembling from pure frustration. “This has nothing to do with you. This is about my life, my goals, my beliefs. You’re conservative. I understand that. But I’m not. I’m a gay man, Dad. I’m not ashamed of that. I’m tired of being part of a political franchise that thinks I should be. I’d like to have your understanding and your support…” he stalled out, his voice breaking. I slid my arm around him and he leaned against me for a moment, vibrating with tension, before pulling away and taking a step closer to his father. “I know this isn’t what you would have chosen for me. I don’t suppose anything about me is what you would have chosen. But I’m still your son, and I’d like to think you’d accept me as I am and stand behind me, no matter what. This job is a wonderful opportunity for me….”

“This job is a reckless mistake!”

“…and I’d like to do this with your support. But if I can’t have that, I will do it on my own.”

James glared at him, his lips white. “You’ve got it, sport. You’re on your own.” Then he turned on his heel and marched inside, jerking the door shut behind him.

Five minutes later, I was upstairs, shoving clothes back into our overnight bag. James was holed up in the study with a bottle of brandy, settling in for a nice, long wallow in self-righteousness, I guess. Marion and Liz had practically begged Timmy to stick to the original plan and sleep over, but after all the carnage out on the veranda, he said wasn’t up to spending the night under the same roof as his old man. I couldn’t say I blamed him. He’d given them each a hug and a kiss and quietly told them he loved them, then gone out to the car to calm down while I packed our stuff. Probably not the best call on his part, since I seemed to be doing such a lousy job of it.

“I wish you two would stay the night,” Marion said, watching me try to fold Timmy’s silk pajamas for the third time without success. “It’s so late, and you’re both so tired and upset.“

Upset? Yeah, Timmy was plenty upset. But me? I was livid. My hands were shaking from pure fury, and all I wanted was to get us the hell out of there as fast as I could, but still do it in a way that wouldn’t get Timmy any more worked up than he already was. And I already knew from hard-earned experience that except for being rejected by his piss-poor excuse for an asshole father, nothing in this world got Timmy more worked up than wrinkled silk pajamas.

Finally, Marion took them from me and folded them herself, then placed them neatly inside the bag. “I know what you must think of James….”

“Marion, I love you. I mean that. If my own mother had been half as good to me as you’ve been, I might not be the screwed up guy you see standing in front of you right now. But she wasn’t, and I am, and I can assure you that nothing in your life has even started to prepare you for what I’m thinking about James right now. As soon as I get this bag packed and get calmed down enough to keep from ripping his head off and pulling his heart out through his windpipe, I’m going to walk into the study and tell him exactly what I think. It’s not a conversation you want to hear, believe me. But I can promise you this, it’s one he won’t forget anytime soon.”

“If you fly off the handle with James right now, what good will it do? Will it change his mind about anything? Will it do anything to improve this situation? Will it help Timothy?”

“It’ll make me feel better.”

“Will it make you feel any better to know Timothy will be alone out there in the car, waiting for you, needing your support, needing _you_ while you’re wasting time with James, giving in to a childish tantrum? Will it make you feel any better to know that you’ve alienated James further, that you’ve driven even more of a wedge between Timothy and his father? I don’t blame you if you have a thing or two to say to my husband, but for Timothy’s sake, do it later when you’re thinking clearly, not right now in the heat of anger. Please, Don, think about this,” she said, taking my hands and squeezing them gently. “Right now, a little temperance, a little restraint, will go a long way.”

“I just want…” I floundered, knowing the words for what I was feeling were inside me somewhere, but not having a fucking clue how to force them over my tongue and through my lips in an order that would make sense. “I just want him to not hurt, you know? He saved me, Marion….” Again I floundered, knowing I was losing it…losing it…choking on the lump in my throat that had been anger but was now morphing into something different and more painful, something I didn’t know if I could bear. Then she got right up in my face and nailed me to the wall with those eyes, and even though her son’s were cornflower blue and hers were the color of melted chocolate, I saw Timmy in them just the same.

“Then save _him_ , Don. Go down there right now and save him. I know my son. He internalizes this sort of thing. He keeps it buried inside until it eats him alive. If you give him too long to think about this, he’ll turn it around in his mind until he’s convinced it was his fault his father decided to act like an ass.“

“The way he blames himself for what happened to Kelly,” I said.

“I know he feels that way. But it‘s ridiculous, because he wasn‘t even here when it happened. It was his first year in the seminary, and he was trying so hard to reconcile what God made him with what he thought God wanted him to be….”

“Why would anybody expect him to be anything more than he is right now?

Did you see the way he stood his ground even when it was breaking his heart to do it? He blew me away, Marion. He was about a hundred times tougher than I could have been. I’m really proud of him.”

“He hasn’t always stood up to James like that, you know. He can stand up for anyone else in the world, but when he’s the one being trampled on, it’s a different matter entirely.”

“It’s all that damned Catholic guilt,” I said. Then I remembered who I was talking to and felt my face get hot. “I didn’t mean….”

“That is part of it. But it’s also just the way Timothy’s mind works. Regardless of where the fault lies, he finds it easier to blame himself than to blame someone he loves. I think you’ve been a good influence on him, Don. You’re helping him see himself as someone worth standing up for. Now it’s up to you to make sure he doesn’t backslide, that he doesn’t start second-guessing his decisions. I think the last thing either of us wants is to see him throw in the towel now.”

“That would make James happy, at least,” I said bitterly.

“Oh, James isn’t going to be happy,” she said. “Elizabeth is with him now, and once she’s through with him, he and I will be having a talk. Believe me, before the night is over, James Callahan will know exactly how unhappy he is going to be.”

I gathered up our things, then let Marion wrap me in a warm hug. “Thanks for keeping me from doing something stupid,” I told her. “I’m gonna let it drop for tonight, but James is going to be hearing from me. This isn’t over, you know.”

“I didn’t expect it to be.”

Downstairs, I passed by the study but kept right on walking. I couldn’t help grinning when I heard raised voices inside, telling me Liz was doing a better job of ripping James’ heart out than I ever could.

When I got to the car, I slid behind the steering wheel and reached for Timmy. “Are you okay?” I asked. He thought that over for a good, long minute before he shook his head, looking sadder than I’d ever seen him look. Then he more or less folded over on me, leaning into me with his forehead braced against my shoulder. He stayed that way for a minute or two, then drew a long, shuddering breath and sat up again. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, then fastened his seatbelt and fumbled for my hand.

“I want to go home,” he said.

We made it about five miles down the road before he lost it. I pulled over to the side and held him til it was over, telling him I was there and that I loved him, and that everything was going to be all right, even though I wasn’t so sure it really would be. It kind of freaked me out, seeing Timmy break down that way. Seeing him fall apart like that, I mean really fall apart and cry like the world had ended and nothing could ever make things right again, it scared me, you know? I’m not ashamed to admit that I had a quiet little breakdown of my own right along with him. It was mostly for him, but a little bit of it was for me, too, for the miserable, rotten unfairness of it all, for the fact that we live in a world where unconditional love is a myth, where parents don’t really accept their kids, warts and all.

Afterward, he still looked sad and shaken, and I could tell he was tired through and through. I would have given anything if I could’ve somehow made it all go back to the way it was before, somehow turned back the clock until about an hour before everything went all to hell and relived the night, only somehow figuring out a way to change things and make it turn out all right. I couldn’t, though, so I kissed him instead, tasting the salt residue on his cheeks. He found my mouth and slipped his tongue inside, his hands finding their way under my shirt so he could rub my nipples with the balls of his thumbs. They instantly got hard and so did my dick, and I could tell from the way Timmy was gasping when I sucked at that hot little pulse point at the base of his throat that he wasn’t too far behind me.

That was the way it always went with us, with our intensity level going from zero to sixty in less than a minute. Still, once we knew where we were going, neither of us was in all that big a rush to get there. We drew it out til it hurt, caressing every patch of bare skin we could get to and trading kisses so deep and needy everything else faded to a blur and all we knew or felt or remembered was the time it took one kiss to bleed into the next. When we saw a pair of headlights approach, we straightened up some and I drove on, but Timmy’s head never left my shoulder and his fingers didn’t untangle from mine until I found a spot where we could pull over and not be seen from the highway.

As soon as the car stopped rolling, we pushed the seats all way back and made love right there by the roadside like a couple of sixteen-year-olds in heat, like my mother and father had done the night they made me. Only this time, Bob Seger wasn’t singing “Turn the Page” on the 8-track, and an unopened pack of birth control pills wasn‘t lost between the seats. The only sounds we could hear were the frogs and the bugs, the occasional car passing out there on the road, our own ragged breathing. After we‘d climbed the peak and tumbled over, we straightened our clothes and started to drift right where we sat, knowing our backs and our knees would read us the riot act the next morning, but not really giving a shit. The night breeze had us pinned to the spot, it felt so warm and thick as it drifted in the open windows, and we knew we weren’t up to driving any farther that night.

“Thank you,” Timmy said as he settled against my side. It was the first thing he’d said since we left Liz’s place, and I knew then that the worst was over, that as sad and hurt as I knew he still was, he was going to come through it okay. I still had a bone to pick with James, and when I got the chance to pick it, things were going to get ugly. But I was glad it was going to happen on down the pike, that I hadn’t kept Timmy waiting, maybe tearing himself apart, while I tore into his poor excuse for a father that night.

Like I said, I’m not a patient man. Never have been and probably never will be. But for Timmy’s sake, I’m working on it. God knows I am working on it….

  



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